


Sliver

by LtLJ



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtLJ/pseuds/LtLJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least they had finally met people who were worse at alien contact than they were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sliver

John made it up the jumper's ramp and collapsed on the deck, barely catching himself on one unsteady arm, biting his lip to keep from yelling. He needed the other hand to press against the bleeding wound just above his right knee. It felt like his leg was on fire, like something was in the wound trying to tear its way out.

Teyla landed beside him, ripping off her jacket to press against the wound, and Rodney was tearing through the overhead rack. He was looking for the medical kit, but they didn't have time for that. "Rodney, leave it," John said through gritted teeth. "Get in the cockpit and--" get us out of here, he meant to add, but nobody else was running up the ramp. The others were still out there.

"Crap." John tried to key his radio, only realizing he needed that arm to keep himself upright when he slumped face-first onto the floor. He rolled onto his back, gasping as pain made the world go white for a heartbeat. When it came back, Teyla was still keeping pressure on the wound, saying, "Major, please, do not move!"

John said into his headset, "Ford, Stackhouse, get back here!" No answer but static. Outside the hatch, John could see the heavy green jungle at the edge of the clearing, but no movement. The air was humid and heavy, thick with the smell of wet earth and moss.

"I do not understand," Teyla said bitterly. "We did nothing to provoke them--"

Rodney landed on the deck beside him, dumping out the medical kit and scrambling for the packs of bandages. He snarled, "Why do we always forget that when someone says 'friendly simple people who like to trade' what they actually mean is 'a band of psychotic murderers who shoot on sight.' Damnit, where's the--"

"Hurry." Teyla's voice was urgent. "It is getting worse."

Sweat was running into John's eyes and his vision was starting to go dark at the edges. Hot coals under his skin would have felt better. He had tried to pull the bolt out so he could run, but it had come apart in his hand, and he knew some of it was still in the wound. It felt like it was alive, like it was moving around. He said again, "Ford, where the hell are you?" Ford, Stackhouse and Selana had been covering their retreat, and there was no sign of them. Dr. Corrigan wasn't here either, and he had been right behind Rodney. John swore. They needed to seal the ramp, get in the air, try to drive off the attackers so they could pick up the others-- With an effort that made his head swim, he shoved himself upright. "Teyla, Rodney--"

Then his radio crackled and Ford's voice said, "Sir, our position's secure, we're--"

John lost the rest as Corrigan and Selana stumbled into view. Corrigan was limping, the front of his uniform stained with greenish mud, Selana keeping him upright. "Sorry, sorry, I fell," Corrigan was saying. He saw John and turned white. "Oh no!" Selana's eyes went wide and she fumbled for her radio.

John looked down. Teyla's jacket, pressed over his wound, was soaked with blood. Her hands were stained with it, her expression set and desperate. Rodney, tearing open a package of sterile gauze, looked sick. That's not good, John thought. He fell back on the deck, barely feeling the thump, and said into his headset, "Ford, say again?"

He could hear Selana on the channel, telling Ford that John was badly wounded. John set his jaw as Rodney and Teyla did something that sent spikes of agony all the way up his spine, and said calmly, "Somebody fucking report right fucking now."

Stackhouse came onto the channel, his breathing rough as if he were running, saying, "Sir, we're secure. It was an accident!"

"What?" John said, sure he had heard wrong. He heard the question echoed by about three other people on the channel. Rodney shouted, "How the hell do you accidentally shoot someone?"

Stackhouse was saying rapidly, "Dr. Corrigan fell as we were retreating and twisted his ankle. We stopped to cover him and the Gilarans caught up with us, but they were unarmed. The headwoman surrendered to us, and said that it was one of the young men, trying to show off. He didn't mean to hit anybody, only his aim was off--"

"Son of a bitch," John said. The cabin was starting to rotate, and he felt burning hot and freezing cold all at once. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. Then Ford and Stackhouse appeared on the ramp, warily escorting an older woman wearing a dress made out of complicated patterns of woven leaves. She was dragging a protesting teenager by the ear. She saw John and stopped, pointing dramatically. The kid froze, his face startled, then horrified. Then the woman turned him loose and sent him away with a slap to the head.

Then John passed out.

 

***

 

John blinked, realizing he had lost consciousness for a time. He was still on the floor of the jumper, could feel the cool metal through his sweat-soaked t-shirt. Somebody was pressing a cold wet cloth to his forehead. His leg was throbbing and hot, but he didn't have that sensation of something eating into the muscle. He realized his tac vest and gunbelt were gone, and he didn't like that. He got his eyes all the way open, and focused on an old woman, crouching next to him.

John yelped, trying to flail upright, and she yelped and retreated.

"No, no, it's okay!" Rodney grabbed his arm, and Teyla was at his other side, gripping his shoulder and holding him still, saying, "Major, all is well!"

John sank back, his head reeling from the abrupt movement. "What the hell--"

Rodney explained rapidly, "The weapon that struck you was some kind of semi-organic technology. When you pulled the bolt out, it left a particle in the wound; that's why we couldn't stop the bleeding. Unless they used the same material to remove it, it would have--" Rodney hesitated and John tipped his head back to see his face. Rodney winced. "Burrowed deeper. They said we didn't have time to get you back to Atlantis." He added with acid irony, "And apparently they were genuinely appalled that junior decided to shoot the leader of the strange people with the big guns and fiery death bombs."

"Oh." John lifted his head, saw there was a clean dressing wrapped around his leg, though there was still sticky blood all over the floor of the jumper. Everybody else -- Ford, Stackhouse, Corrigan, and Selana -- were gathered around, watching him anxiously. The Gilaran woman, apparently seeing that he wasn't in any shape for immediate retaliation, came back. Smiling apologetically, she held up a sliver of silvery wood, a good inch long and still streaked with blood.

"You okay, sir?" Ford asked worriedly, crouching next to John.

"Yeah." John let his head drop back. "What's our situation?"

"They've been apologizing all over the place, sir. They're really embarrassed about it." Ford shook his head wearily, taking his cap off to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "And they say they still want to trade."

John snorted, then winced. At least they had finally met people who were worse at alien contact than they were. "Tell them we'll get back to them on that."

end


End file.
